


i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night

by merrywil



Series: i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night (and snippets) [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Gen, Mystery, OMG this has a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: In the aftermath of the Return, Stephen Strange (Master of the New York Sanctum, practitioner of the mystic arts) is struggling to come to terms with the decisions he has made, and what he has become.  But the Multiverse isn’t about to let him, or his friends, catch their breath.  Like all proper mysteries, this one finds its way to the doors of 177A Bleecker Street on a rainy autumn night.  But if Stephen can’t solve both its riddle and his own inner turmoil in time, the consequences may be unexpectedly dire.





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: Holy mackerel. I wrote a fic with a plot. Kind of proud of that, tbh. It probably won’t happen again, and may be complete rubbish. But I enjoyed it immensely. I’m going to blame this one on Marvel and Scott Derrickson. This is what my annoying brain came up with from the loose threads of DS1 and the delicious teasers about DS2 (but no Clea this time, just cuz I love Christine and mostly like the newer comics). The majority is from Stephen’s POV, although Wong got to help with the prologue and epilogue. Five proper chapters, all finished but not beta’d (volunteers? victims?). Will post over 2-3 weeks. Warnings: canon typical violence, minor character death, and (not really but kind of/very briefly mentioned) thoughts of suicide.

Prologue

“Oh, my apologies!”

“It is entirely my fault.  I was not being mindful.”

To lose track of one’s surroundings was a grievous offense in a master of the mystic arts.  To be centered in one’s self and one’s environment was a novice’s mistake. For a master as experienced as Wong, it was nearly unheard of.

But then, these were unheard of times.  The loss of The Ancient One was jarring in and of itself.  Of course, there had been other Sorcerers Supreme, but not within mortal memory.  For this to be followed within the course of a year by the Decimation, as most people called it, added insult to injury.  And now, just a few short months since the Return, Kamar-Taj (like the rest of the world) was trying to regain its footing as those who had remained adjusted to those who felt as if five years ago was only yesterday.

The woman Wong had nearly collided with smiled up at him, her brown eyes sparkling good naturedly.  She shook her head, chuckling as one would at a wayward child.

“Perhaps the Multiverse felt the need to throw us together, since we have been too busy for too long.  It is good to see you, my friend.”

Wong couldn’t help but smile at her as well, although perhaps his was more strained.

“Perhaps it did, Cora.  It is good to see you as well.”

“Pish tosh.  No need to be so formal, Wong.  Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten all the embarrassing novice mistakes we saw each other make?  Come, you must have a few minutes to share tea with an old friend, at least.”

Wong felt the smile still play around his lips.  Who indeed could forget the time they set the old librarian’s filing system on fire, or tried to open a portal to ancient Atlantis?  (They had mopped sea water out of the dormitory for  _ days _ ).  But his words contradicted his smile nevertheless.

“I am sorry, Cora.  I am only here for the afternoon, and have a number of tasks to complete before I return to the Sanctum.  Perhaps another time.”

He should have known better.  Cora was a beloved friend from his youth, but she was like a starving dog with a bone when she set her mind to it.  Before he had even finished speaking, her arm was linked with his, and their feet were already moving through the stone cloister in the direction of the closest tea room.

“Wong.  You were the one who taught me that time must be managed efficiently, but that said time must also include moments to rest the mind.  If your mind is so unrested that you are running over little old ladies in the compound’s hallways, then you can share a pot of tea with me.”

“Hmm.  Are you implying that we are old, Cora?”

“That is your inference, oh revered librarian.”

\--

As the tea steeped, they talked of little things.  Wong’s newest additions to the library collection, Cora’s travels in South America, the whereabouts of their former fellow students, the recent initiates at Kamar-Taj.  Their conversation lapsed as Cora poured the tea, the pale green liquid gracefully spilling into each porcelain bowl without a drop wasted. Wong lifted the fragile receptacle gently, pausing to inhale the fragrant steam.

“You are a million miles away again, my friend.”  His eyes jumped up to meet hers, taking in their warmth and concern.  “Care to tell me what’s troubling you?”

He sighed, the puff of air sending the steam swirling into nothing.  “I think perhaps you can guess, unless the compound’s rumor mill no longer works as well as it once did.”

She hummed.  “It works well enough.  And if I were to guess, I’d say it has something to do with a certain American sorcerer, who the rumor mill also panders as a prospective Sorcerer Supreme.”

“Not at the rate he’s going, Cora.”  Wong knew his tone was bleak, but he hadn’t been the one to broach this topic.  “He’s...driving himself into the ground. He does not sleep, barely eats, and is studying whenever he’s not working.”

She frowned.  “Are you concerned that he cannot defend the Sanctum?”

Wong snorted.  “I’m concerned the fool will happily kill himself trying.  And, Cora, it’s not as though I can’t understand. Does the rumor mill speak at all of his role in the Decimation?”  She tilted her chin in acquiescence. 

“Take every wild story you have heard, and the truth does not even approach that.  And yet, I do not have the skills to stop the fallout.” He stared gloomily into his cooling tea, and nearly started when her hand came to rest gently on his.  

“Wong.  My friend.  Please, listen.  Stephen Strange is a grown man, and a master of the mystic arts.  I know you care for him, but you cannot save him. You can be there, to help if he asks.  But ultimately, he has to save himself.”

Wong stared out the window for a moment, watching as the low hanging clouds wound their way around the mountains above Kathmandu.  He smiled sadly, although the smile did not reach his eyes. “I know, Cora. And that is why I am afraid.”

\--

Chapter 1

November in New York City was cold, wet, and generally miserable.  Stephen Strange was wondering why, out of all the cities in all the world, he had ended up back in New York.  One would think that a major career change might have carried some perks, like a more forgiving climate.

A cyclist skidded past him on the rain-slick sidewalk.  Only the insane and the truly desperate were out at night in this weather, but the city always had plenty of both.  Case in point, perhaps. Stephen fumbled with the Sanctum’s doorknob for a moment, but his fingers were not the most cooperative at the best of times.  Glancing both ways, he waved his hand over ancient metal, and the latch clicked open in a flurry of orange sparks.

The moment the heavy door closed behind him, the Cloak was off his shoulders, wringing itself onto the aged floorboards.  Shivering slightly, it floated in the air with such an air of dejection that he didn’t have the heart to reprimand it. And after all, it was his fault that they’d both been drenched.  With a sigh, he vanished the puddle of rainwater, then trudged off in the direction of the kitchen.

The room was warm, heat radiating pleasantly from the stove.  The Cloak, which had trailed him into the room like a lost puppy, draped itself over a worn wooden chair in front of the appliance.  A pan still simmered on the stovetop. 

“Good evening, Stephen.”  Wong was washing the dishes at the sink.  “Anything to report?”

“Nothing significant.”  He lowered himself into another wooden chair, leaning back and closing his eyes.  “Just a routine possession case.”

“I see.  And the reason you--and the Cloak--are dripping water all over the kitchen floor?”

“We walked back.”  Stephen opened his eyes again, to find his housemate pinning him in place with a stare.  He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Wong harrumphed, turning back to his dishes.  “The worst ideas always do. There’s dinner, still, on the stove.”

But Stephen was already shaking his head, reaching up to push his water-soaked bangs out of his eyes.  “I’m going to dry off, then there’s a few things I need to look at in the library before tomorrow. Thanks anyway.”

Stephen saw his friend glance up, as if seeking divine assistance in remaining patient.  He raised an eyebrow at Wong’s dramatics. 

“Stephen.  It’s not to say that I don’t miss your company at dinner, although I could bear that.  But you can’t *not* eat.”

Oh, so they were doing this now.  He’d assumed it would only be a matter of time before Wong staged an intervention of some sort.  As a former physician, he knew it wasn’t precisely healthy to neglect sleeping and eating in favor of working.  For that matter, there were studies showing that doctors who pulled those sort of stunts were more likely to make errors.

But he had to be ready.  And if he worked until he fell asleep at his desk out of exhaustion, he didn’t have time to overanalyze his past actions.

He grimaced.  Wong sighed. “Stephen, you cannot keep running forever.  You have people who care about you. Let them help.”

He opened his mouth to answer Wong.  And closed it again when the door knocker clanged, deep and sonorous.

Saved by the bell.  Although he could tell from Wong’s expression that he’d been granted only a temporary reprieve.

“Come on, let’s see who it is.”

\--

On second thought, perhaps he should have been less eager to greet their visitor.  The woman did a double take at the sight of his still wet robes. Not the best first impression.  Fortunately or unfortunately, she seemed too preoccupied to pay it much mind. He had shepherded her to an armchair in front of the sitting room fire, and she sat nervously twisting the cuffs of her sweater.

He’d been told more than once that his bedside manner was atrocious, but at least nowadays he tried.  “Is there something we can do for you?”

“Yes.  No. I don’t know.”  She blew out a breath, then grinned wryly.  “I’m not usually this much of a disaster. Nan--that’s my wife--said that coming here was insanity, no offense meant.  But we’ve tried everything else, and my neighbor insisted that you had helped her cousin. So I figured that I had to give it a chance.”

Now that she’d started speaking, the words seemed to come more easily.  “My name’s Beth, by the way. I’m here about our daughter, Noa. She’s sick?  I guess. Although none of her doctors have been able to find a cause. About a month ago, Nan went to wake her for school, and she couldn’t.  She hasn’t woken since.”

She looked from Stephen to Wong imploringly.  “I don’t know where else to turn. Please, will you help us?”

\--

Beth and Nancy lived in half of a modest duplex in the Village.  As houses that he’d visited in his capacity as sorcerer went, it was quite charming.  The paint was layered and faded, and the door frames somewhat warped. But the decorative candle lights in the windows twinkled merrily, and colorful throw rugs covered the worn but polished hardwood.  

This was someone’s home, had been for quite some time.  He could practically hear the peals of childish laughter, the thud of a school backpack hitting the floor, the parental admonishments to finish playing with friends in the street before dark.

Wong had decided to tag along (“I have nothing more pressing at the moment”).  Stephen wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or dismayed. He was certainly glad of his friend’s company, but he had a sinking feeling that he’d be cornered to continue their conversation once they returned to the Sanctum.

“Nan.  Let them take a look.  Mrs. Rodriguez said that they helped her cousin’s grandbaby.  What harm will it do?”

Body language wasn’t his forte, but the tightly clenched jaw and crossed arms were definitely screaming the other woman’s discomfort with their presence.

“Beth…”  Nancy met her spouse’s eyes, and her resolve visibly wavered.  She looked down at the hand that was resting on her elbow, and relented.  “Fine. But if they don’t find anything, they leave, and that’s the end of this.”

“Fair enough.”  Turning to face the sorcerers, Beth gestured them forwards.  “Noa’s room is upstairs. Follow me.”

\--

They ascended the steep wooden stairs, boards moaning and creaking under their feet.  The girl’s room was in the front of the narrow house. Beth opened the door, and ushered them inside.

Something of the little girl who had played beneath the street lamps remained, in the form of plush toys and a pink shag carpet.  But band and movie posters now decorated the white walls, and a laptop and textbooks took pride of place on the low desk. 

Noa was laid in a bed, but not the bed that Stephen imagined she had been found in.  This was a hospital bed, with the head slightly elevated. Monitoring was minimal, but an IV stand for TPN was pushed against the wall.  It made sense; the girl had been comatose for over a month.

That was apparent in her physical condition as well.  Her muscles had begun to atrophy. But if one looked beyond that, she appeared to simply be sleeping.  Stephen settled himself hipshot against the bed. Sensation wasn't something his fingers could really feel anymore, but the quilt beneath them looked warm and soft.  Hesitating a moment (he still wasn’t a fan of the exposition part of his job, but a glance at Wong showed that no help would be forthcoming), he cleared his throat.

“I’m going to take a look around.  It won’t seem like anything is happening.  Just be quiet for a few minutes, and don’t try to touch or speak with me.”  He’d learned the hard way that it was better to tell people what to expect in advance.

Taking a centering breath, and reminding his body to remain upright, he cast his astral form out into the room.  Its borders glowed with light, a sort of unintentional warding instilled by years of familial love. A quick examination of the rest of the house showed much the same, with none of the invisible parasites that congregated to feed on negative emotions.

Turning his attention back to the girl, Stephen was surprised and not a small amount frustrated to also find nothing out of the ordinary.  He had been expecting...something. A curse, a creature feasting on her life energy, a cause unseen to her parents and doctors but easily visible to a practitioner of the mystic arts.  Just to cover his bases, he ran a quick scan for physical abnormalities. Still nothing.

Slipping back into his physical form, he called out to Wong.  As second opinions went, this was one he’d trust. And for all that he’d been told he was gifted in the mystic arts, Wong had years of experience that he lacked, particularly outside of battle magic.  “Wong, tell me what you see.”

The other man hid his surprise at the request well, sinking to kneel on the floor.  After a minute, he opened his eyes, locking them with Stephen’s. “Nothing.”

Nancy, standing behind Beth, spoke.  “Nothing? What does that mean?” Her voice was tinged with suspicion.  Stephen shook his head, thoughts racing. 

Obviously, the girl was non-responsive, but stable.  Any doctor worth their salt would have been able to identify a medical cause for such a state; there weren’t many options.  And his scan confirmed that there was nothing physically wrong with Noa now. So why wouldn’t she wake?

He turned to face Noa’s parents.  “I can’t find anything wrong with your daughter, either physically or metaphysically.  I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do to help, at least right now.”

Nancy looked away, and her arms came up again to cross over her chest.  Beth’s smile was sad, and she stepped forward to brush her daughter’s dark hair out of her eyes.

“It’s alright.  Thank you anyways, for trying.”  She laughed, a heartbroken sound.  “We always joked that Noa was such a lucky little girl.  She was an orphan, you know. Her entire village was killed, but she managed to escape, and find an aid camp.  She always seemed to land on her feet, not that she deserved any less after what she went through. But now...”

Beth broke off with a sob, hand rising to cover her mouth.  Nancy stepped forward, an arm going protectively around Beth’s shoulders, as she turned to face the two men.  “I...appreciate your trying. If you wouldn’t mind, you can show yourselves out.”

Stephen nodded, heart clenching at the sight of the despondent little family.  There must be something they could do. If only he could figure out what that something was.

\--

The rain had stopped, leaving the air scrubbed fresh but with a brisk bite that heralded the coming winter.  Around his shoulders, the Cloak shivered. Did sentient outerwear get cold? Stephen stepped off the porch onto the carpet of wet leaves that covered the sidewalk.  There was an alley to the side of the house that would serve well enough to conceal a portal.

He was stopped by a hand on his arm.  “Stephen, wait.”

“Wong, I don’t really want to talk about it.”  But the other sorcerer shook his head.

“No, there is something else we can check, before we leave.”  Now this sounded interesting. “We’ll have to wait until they go to bed.  I could not look while they were in the room. But there is...a way to view the events that happened in a place, particularly if emotions from that moment in time created strong echoes.”

“At this point, I’ll try anything.  Lead the way.”

They ended up hiding in the alley after all, until the house grew quiet and all but the candlelight had been extinguished.  Stephen stamped his feet and blew futilely at his cupped hands while Wong ran a quick astral surveillance to ensure that the girl’s parents were not present.  With a start, the other man returned to his waiting body, standing and efficiently spinning open a portal.

“Let’s go.”

The girl’s room was nearly dark, but lit by the glow of a slowly rotating night light that covered the ceiling in tiny stars.  Wong held a finger to his lips, and Stephen rolled his eyes.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  he whispered. 

Wong sent him a stern glare.  Then he spun his hands in a complicated series of glyphs, ending with movement reminiscent of casting a fishing net over the room.  Light blossomed from his hands, and he spun them, turning time backwards.

This was different than using the Eye.  Time was not truly running in reverse. It was more like watching a giant, holographic projection of events in the room, and rewinding them as one would a movie.  Stephen couldn’t help but be impressed; magic was pretty darn amazing.

“So, basically, this is like mystical CSI?  Wong, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Wong’s jaw was clenched in concentration, but he spared his colleague a nonplussed glance.

“Ah.  Here.”

They watched as the image slowed, and began to run forwards.  The girl--Noa, he reminded himself--was sitting at her desk, attention divided between a textbook and her laptop.  She was already wearing her pajamas. The door swung open, and Beth’s head appeared. With remarkable cheeriness for a teen, the girl skipped over to hug her mother goodnight, then clambered readily into bed.  She seemed to drift off quickly. 

Stephen watched with rapt attention.  Surely, something must have occurred as the girl slept.  Mindful of being discovered, Wong accelerated the image slightly.  The girl shifted here and there in her sleep, perhaps dreaming of what teenagers usually do (being late for a test? A classmate on whom they had their first crush?).  But then she would still, and the night would go on.

Soon enough, the dim light of dawn began to drift in through the windows, and there was a knocking at the door.  Nancy entered the room, frowning at the unpacked school bag sitting by the desk. She called out, but Noa did not awaken.  Moving to the bed, she gently shook her daughter’s shoulder. 

Wong cut the image short.  They exchanged a look of grim confusion.  Again, their search had yielded nothing of note, but it was that absence of the remarkable that was remarkable.  What was going on here?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:  I have always wanted to visit/live in the PNW, but have never actually been.  So forgive any erroneous details. I’m also not *that* kind of medical professional ;-)  Yay for Google Scholar.

Chapter 2

“Stephen.”

“Hmm.  Good morning, Wong.”  Stephen didn’t look up from the musty tome he was reading, but he could hear the other man come to a stop in front of him.

“Afternoon, actually.  Please tell me that you have not been here all night.”

“Nope.”  Wong didn’t need to know that he’d been here since around 4 AM.  He’d tried to sleep. But on the nights that he couldn’t, it didn’t help anyone for him to lie awake staring at the ceiling.  And that left him far too much time to think.

Wong looked skeptical, but he seemed willing to let it go.  For now. “Are you researching the girl’s case?”

“Yes.”  Stephen gently closed the large book.  He reached for another. “No luck though.”

Wong nodded.  “I may have thought of something.  When I was in Kamar-Taj the other week, I saw Master Tsimshian in passing.  He mentioned an unusual situation involving a young man in his jurisdiction.  I have a meeting scheduled with him, to see if he might share his research.”

Stephen hummed thoughtfully.  “Tsimshian...he’s based in the Pacific Northwest, isn’t he?  British Columbia? Hard to imagine they’re connected, but anything’s better than what I’ve found so far.  Mind if I join?”

Wong inclined his head, and turning, spun open a portal.

\--

Master Tsimshian was a spry, wiry man who looked like his entire body had been weathered by constant exposure to the elements.  He graciously welcomed them to his home, a small cabin nestled among giant trees. Birdsong lent a pleasant background to their conversation, and faintly Stephen could hear the crash of waves against the cliffs, just out of sight.

The other master listened carefully to their account of Noa’s unusual state, and then sat a moment in silent contemplation.  Finally, he spoke.

“It is indeed an odd thing.  And doubly so because it does sound like the young man about whom I was contacted.  But I fear that I do not have much to offer you in the way of guidance, as I was not able to find a cause or cure for his affliction.”

He stood, and gestured for them to follow.  “Perhaps the best I can offer is to show you.  The man himself has been taken to a state facility, but you can speak with his housemates.  Their commune is a short walk to the south.”

Stephen quickly realized that Tsimshian’s definition of a “short walk” did not quite match his own.   The narrow trail twisted just within the confines of the trees along the cliff’s edge. Far below them, the ocean shuddered with huge plumes of white spray against the rocks.

Tsimshian danced ahead of them along the rocky path, as sure-footed as a mountain goat.  Stephen only took some consolation in the fact that Wong looked as winded as he felt by the time they crested a hill to see the seaside town sprawling beneath them.

The commune was partway down the hill, on the town’s outskirts.  They passed through a rickety wooden gate, its white paint flaking and hinges squeaking. A riotous mix of fall perennials, gourds, and sturdy herbs filled the front yard.  Tsimshian rang the front bell.

The young man who answered the door met them with a pleasant, if confused smile.

“Hello!  I didn’t expect to see you again, with Billy off at the hospital.  Did you need something?”

Tsmishian bowed his head slightly.  “It is good to see you, Ryan. And yes.  I do not mean to impose, but Billy’s case was of interest to...some colleagues of mine.  We were wondering if we might have a moment of your time, and could see his room.”

The young man’s smile never wavered.  “Sure. Come on in. You’re lucky; someone’s moving into Billy’s old room next week, but it’s still empty.”

“You have our thanks.  Wong, would you like to come with me?  Stephen, perhaps you can speak with Ryan.”

Stephen would have preferred not to speak with Ryan, thanks all the same.  He’d chosen neurosurgery as a specialty in part because his patients tended to be unconscious for most of the time he spent with them.  Begrudgingly, he recognized that Wong could make more of the room than he could.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem that he had much more luck or skill when it came to gathering useful information from Billy’s previous housemate.  Ryan had led him into a cozy sitting room full of late afternoon sunlight. It smelled vaguely of hemp, incense, and patchouli.

“Billy was a nice guy.  We all miss him. Everybody loved him, and I’m not just saying that, you know?  Heck, even the garden and the house cats haven’t been the same since he left.”

Stephen made a noncommittal noise of agreement.  “Can you tell me what happened to him?”

“I didn’t come in until Billy’d gone to bed, that night.  Our other three roommates were asleep, too. We all woke up when we heard someone cry out, maybe scream.  When we figured out it must have been Billy, we went into his room. And he was just sleeping, real normal and quiet.  But we couldn’t wake him. And even when they took him away, they couldn’t get him to wake up, or find anything wrong.”

Just like Noa.  Over Ryan’s shoulder, Stephen could see Tsimshian and Wong trudging down the staircase.  Wong shook his head, and the disappointment in his face told Stephen that their search had been no more fruitful.  Another dead end.

\--

They thanked Master Tsimshian, who apologized that he could not provide more help and asked them to keep him updated.  Then they portalled back to the Sanctum. This time, Wong joined Stephen when he retreated to the library. By mutual agreement, they both retrieved a stack of texts, and set to work.

About five hours later, Stephen let out a groan, and lowered his forehead to the table.  “This is useless. Have you found anything?”

Wong shot him a reprimanding look, then sighed.  “No. Nothing.”

With a snarl, Stephen shot to his feet, and began to pace.  “We’re missing something. Let’s assume that the two cases are related, because we have even less to work with if we don’t.  And there are similarities.”

“Yes.  Both young people.  Both at home, sleeping.  Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet, neither wakable with the aid of magic or medicine.”

“And nothing medically abnormal either, at least that we’re aware of.”  Stephen paused. “Can you pull up the magical CSI recording, here?”

“Stephen, it is not magical CSI.  It is technically a form of pschometry, a temporal echo of events as relayed by their surroundings.”

“Uh-huh.  Can you show me Billy’s?”

With a glance heavenward, Wong spun his hands in a slightly different configuration from that Stephen had seen him use in Noa’s room.  

In front of them, a ghostly, three dimensional image of Billy’s room began to play.  The young man carefully trimmed the leaves of a few potted plants adorning his windowsill, then climbed into bed.  An orange cat hopped up to curl next to him. By the light of a nearly full moon, Stephen watched as Billy slept. 

Suddenly, he began to twitch, apparently in the throes of a nightmare.  With a soft growl, the cat jumped down from the bed. Billy’s cry was brief but piercing.  Then he stilled, and appeared to slumber peacefully on.

Wong let the image fade as soon as the boy’s housemates had entered the room, and endeavored to wake him without success.  Stephen sat again, and slumped back in his chair. A thought had caught hold in his brain, and he turned it back and forth in contemplation.

“Wong.  They seemed to be sleeping peacefully when they were found.  But Billy was obviously dreaming, and Noa did, too. Not that that’s unusual, but the timing in Billy’s case might mean something.  Wong? What’s the matter?”

His friend was staring at him, and Stephen didn’t think he’d ever seen the other man look so alarmed (and considering they’d faced down Dormammu and Thanos’s Black Order together, that was saying something).

“Stephen, I’ve thought of something else.  You wouldn’t be aware of this, because you came to Kamar-Taj later in life, as do many.  Noa’s parents remarked that she was always fortunate, escaping her village when no one else did and finding a new family here.  And Billy...Tsimshian mentioned that he had a particular affinity for living creatures.”

Stephen nodded.  “Yes, his housemate made a similar remark.  Does that mean something?”

Wong pursed his lips.  “I don’t know for certain.  But there are some who begin to tap into the multiverse--unconsciously, you understand--even before they find their way to us.  Often, these are the people who history has persecuted for witchcraft: those with good fortune or good timing, those who can speak to plants and animals.”  He smiled crookedly. “Those who are gifted at healing.”

Stephen felt a shiver run down his spine.  “So you think these two may have been what, potential sorcerers?”

“Perhaps.”  Decisively, Wong stood.  “But I am afraid there is more.  And if I am correct, then we may have a much larger problem on our hands.”

Stephen wondered if it would be acceptable for him to take just a moment to have a mental breakdown.  There had been days as a surgeon when he’d gone without much food or sleep. But even surgeons had days off, times when they could trust someone else would step up and the world wouldn’t end if they weren’t at the top of their game.

A book was placed carefully on the table in front of him; even in moments of mild panic, Wong would never mistreat one of his precious tomes.  Stephen leaned forward. On one page flowed paragraphs of dense text. On the opposite was an ink drawing of a dark figure with elfin features and glowing red eyes.  Not visually impressive, as demonic entities went, but Stephen had learned that reading a book by its cover was definitely a bad idea when it came to the mystic arts.

Wong tapped a finger against the text.  “Nightmare. Ruler of the Dream Dimension, although that is not his origin.  He is a...necessary evil, and tolerated so long as he respects his boundaries.  It has been long since he attempted to interfere directly with our world. But perhaps that has changed.”

“Can dreams really be that great of a threat?  I can certainly see how this might be our answer, but all we have is a couple of young people who won’t wake up.”

Wong harrumphed.  “And if this is the beginning of an epidemic, like the one the masters of the mystic arts barely stopped centuries ago?  The Dream Dimension is necessary to prevent the human race from losing its sanity. But every ‘dream’ that drives humans to subjugate and exploit their fellows has Nightmare’s hand it.  And that is only his usual meddling.”

So not a threat to be taken lightly then.  Stephen nodded. “I think I know how we can find out if this Nightmare is involved.  I just need to make a call.”

\--

“Time already?  Thank you.” The Cloak bobbed in the air in a silent “you’re welcome.”  Stephen spun open a portal, orange sparks disappearing before they fell to the library’s ornate carpet.  Fortunately, they hadn’t had to wait long after his call.

“Hi Wong.”  Christine Palmer smiled at his colleague as she stepped through the portal’s fiery circle.  She was still wearing her scrubs and carrying the bag she brought to each shift. “Stephen...oh shit, I thought you said this wasn’t an emergency?  What did you do to yourself this time? You look awful.”

Stephen could only look on in bemusement as he was in short order hugged, then herded into a chair, Christine’s hand on his radial pulse point.  “It’s good to see you, too? Actually, there’s nothing wrong with me this time. We need your professional assistance. Hey!” He protested the hand that was placed on his forehead.

“Wong, what have you been feeding him?”

Wong snorted.  “He’s not a child.  He just acts like one.”

“Okay, okay.  What is this, ‘gang up on Stephen’ Day?  Can both of you focus for a minute?”

Escaping from the chair, he turned to face the other doctor.  “Christine, we really do need your help. There are two young people--maybe more, we’ve got feelers out to make sure we aren’t missing other cases--who have been non-responsive for several weeks.  Possibly affected by a magical ailment. No trauma, no toxins or medications, and no obvious diagnostic abnormalities. But we want to check something else, to rule out a hypothesis of ours.”

“Alright.  Although then we need to have a serious discussion about the definition of ‘nothing wrong.’”  Arms akimbo, she gave him a loaded stare. “But you know I don’t know anything about magic. So what can I do?”

He smiled.  “Actually, we need help that’s a little more down to earth.  Can you arrange for fMRIs of both cases, off the record? We can provide the...transportation.”

\--

The last of the four gurneys wheeled through its portal, the Master escorting it letting the circle close behind her.  They’d identified another two “patients” in the 24 hours it had taken Christine to make arrangements. One was a high school student from Milwaukee, an apple pie and baseball kid with silken yellow pigtails and two heartbroken parents.  The other was a gifted but troubled young artist who’d been found in his room at a halfway house in Philadelphia.

The gurneys made a line in the hallway outside of the MRI suite.  Christine, being her usual brilliant self, had everything precisely organized and choreographed to keep their activities from prying eyes.  A little bit of mystical redirection helped keep staff away from the area, a goal aided by the late hour.

No matter how many times he returned, the sights and smells and sounds of the hospital were always jarring when visited in his current role.  He understood the limbic system, and how cells in the hippocampus could help a taxi driver navigate the maze of London streets. But somehow that didn’t quite explain the rush of emotions evoked by the smell of antiseptic and the pages that echoed from the intercoms.

Peering through a keyhole indeed.

“Hey.  We’re ready to start.”  He was drawn from his introspection by Christine’s voice at his side.  Looking down, he nodded.

“Sounds good.  Can I help?”

“Thanks, but it’s pretty straightforward since they’re all unconscious anyways.  Well, it also helps that my assistants can just levitate the patients onto the bed.  Once everyone’s been scanned, we can look over the results.”

Christine moved away, brisk but not rushed, to direct the first person into the machine.  An admiring smile played about his lips. He was very lucky to know her.

With a sigh, Stephen settled into a chair to wait, and watch through the glass window of the suite.  The monitors next to him signalled their readiness, but it would take some time for any meaningful results to appear.  Time that, as always, might be a luxury they could ill afford

\--

_ The air was heavy, and it felt as though he could feel the shift in the planet’s axis, a dizzying effect that made the landscape spin if he moved his head too quickly.  A portal unlike his own snapped closed, and he took in their adversary. _

_ “I take it the Maw is dead. This day extracts a heavy toll. Still, he accomplished his mission.” _

_ Stephen shivered, the memory of those crystalline needles (intended for microsurgery; oh the irony) all too fresh a horror.  Focus. He hardly would have guessed that he’d someday be listening to an alien megalomaniac expand upon his masterplan for saving the universe. _

_ “Titan was like most planets. Too many mouths, and not enough to go around. And when we faced extinction, I offered a solution.” _

_ “Genocide.” _

_ “But at random, dispassionate, fair to rich and poor alike. They called me a madman. And what I predicted came to pass.” _

_ “Congratulations. You're a prophet.” _

_ “No.  That’s your role.” _

_ Wait.  That’s not what the Titan had said.  A coil of cold dread twisted in his gut.  Thanos’s eyes bore into his as he stalked forward. _

_ “Prophet, chessmaster, executioner...all the same in the end, aren’t they?” _

“Stephen.  Stephen, wake up.”  He blinked, shaking his head muzzily as Christine’s face swam into focus.  His eye felt full of sand, and he ran a hand over them. Damn, he’d fallen asleep.  He didn’t have time for this.

“Hey.”  Christine’s hand on his shoulder was warm and grounding.  “As much as you actually do need to sleep, this isn’t the best place for it.  And we have results on the...affected.”

“Show me.”  He would sleep later.  When all of this was finished.

Stephen could tell that his former colleague wasn’t happy.  But she complied without argument, turning to face the monitor next to which he’d been taking his impromptu nap.  The fRMI results for all four people were displayed on the screen. Stephen’s brow furrowed in consternation as he looked at each one.  

“No signs of organic brain disease, which is hardly surprising if magic is involved.  But they’re all showing activation of medial PFC, medial temporal lobe, and posterior cingulate.”

“That’s consistent with mind wandering.  Or dreaming during REM sleep.” Christine’s surprise colored her tone.  This probably wasn’t what she was expecting. 

Unfortunately, he was not as surprised.  It was looking more and more like Wong had been on the right track.

“Exactly.  But it’s persistent, which is definitely not consistent with REM sleep.  Nor is their absence of saccadic eye movements.” Stephen’s mind was racing, and he didn’t particularly like the conclusions it was drawing.  “It is typical of a person experiencing astral projection.”

“Astral *what*?”

But as much as he once loved to expound to colleagues and students alike, they didn’t have that luxury now.  “No time to explain. Where is everyone?”

Christine had worked on the ER floor long enough to go along with a situation that she didn’t yet fully understand.  She answered crisply and concisely. “Wong and your other colleagues, um, *returned* them to their residences.”

He nodded absentmindedly, already thinking ahead to what he would need.

“Alright.  I have to make some preparations, and hopefully speak with Wong, if I can find him.  If not, I’ll leave a note at the Sanctum. I need you to collect everything you need for IV sedation, and meet me back here in ten minutes.”  He paused, suddenly uncertain. 

“Well, that is if you’re willing.  I’m not entirely sure what we’re walking into here, or the dangers involved.  But I think that someone or something may have separated and trapped these people’s astral forms--their consciousnesses, if you will.  We haven’t been able to find anything on the astral plane, but maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.”

Stephen took a deep breath.  This was the part he was worried about himself, to be honest.  “If these people are trapped in a dream state, maybe it will be easier to find them if I go looking for them there.  Dreamwalking isn’t quite the same as astral projection, and I’ll need to be asleep--or a chemically induced version of it.  It’s your call, Christine. But...I could use your help.”

He had made his appeal.  Now it was up to her. Stephen didn’t realize he had been holding his breath, until she smiled at him.  He felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

“Of course, I’ll help.  I’m still not sure what’s going on.”  Suddenly serious, she caught his gaze, leaning forwards slightly.  “But I trust you. And I know you can help those people, if they can be helped.”

She stood abruptly from her chair, and moved towards the door, calling over her shoulder as she went.  “Just try not to get my license revoked, alright? Some of us still need to make a living.”

Stephen chuckled softly under his breath as he spun open a portal to the Sanctum.  He wasn’t certain what he’d be facing in the next few hours, but at least he’d be facing it with a friend at his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:  Short one this time.  But Stephen gets in trouble.  Raise your hand if you *aren’t* surprised.

“Are you sure about this?”

Stephen looked up at Christine from where he was lying prone on Noa’s bedroom floor.  He smiled wryly. “Not really. But I think it’s the only option we have.”

She snorted softly.  “Great. That gives me a lot of confidence.  At the first sign of trouble, I’m waking you up.”

Christine lifted a syringe, the light of the bedside lamp glinting off its needle as she poised it over the IV port.  “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Stephen made himself watch as she injected the pale yellow contents through the catheter.  Within moments, he felt the room swim foggily. He blinked.

When he opened his eyes, he wondered if it hadn’t worked, as impossible as that would have been.  He moved to stand up...and turned to see Christine still hunched over his physical body, eyes glued to the portable monitor she’d smuggled out of the hospital.  

This didn’t feel quite like astral projection.  He felt like he was awake. But just like in a dream, his peripheral vision faded off into a wavering mirage that sometimes jumped and shifted just beyond his awareness.  Ignoring that, he turned to the reason for this trip.

Noa rested on her bed just as she did in the physical world.  And at first glance, she looked as unremarkable as she had when he’d examined her on the astral plane.  But looking more closely, he found a tiny spark of white light bobbing above the young woman. He reached out a hand, and touched it.

The world seized around him, shattering and then snapping together again.  He wasn’t in a bedroom in a little house in the Village. Instead, he was standing in a clearing carpeted with soft grass, birds singing overhead beneath a crystalline blue sky.  A warm breeze ruffled the brilliant green leaves of the trees.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”  For a moment, Stephen deeply missed the Cloak’s presence.  But this was his dream, and his relic couldn’t follow here.

He realized he was still touching the white light, but now it stretched beneath his hand to form a glistening thread.  The thread floated in the air without obvious support. And it led away from him towards a shadowed fissure in the soaring cliff that formed one side of the clearing.

“Well, I guess I’m going that way.”  He muttered to himself. “Off to meet the Wizard.”

The fissure opened into a welcomingly cool grotto.  A rivulet of water spilled down one wall to form a pool within a catch basin of slate grey rocks.  On the opposite side of the small chamber, a tunnel slanted downwards. The skein of white light disappeared quickly into its dark mouth.

Once inside the tunnel, however, he found it remarkably easy to traverse.  The floor was smooth (worn away over time by water, perhaps?) and free of stumbling blocks.  He could even see surprisingly well. Glancing back, he saw bright sunlight spilling through the tunnel mouth from the grotto’s opening.

Stephen kept a hand on the gossamer thread.  It was neither warm nor cool to the touch, nor precisely tangible.  He realized the light around him had still not dimmed. The rocks arching over his head seemed to emit the faintest phosphorescence.  Stephen again looked back. The tunnel’s mouth was no longer visible, only the thin ribbon of light unspooling behind him. Stephen felt a quiet frisson of foreboding shudder through him.

And then he continued forwards, with a renewed sense of purpose.  In his line of work, he’d learned that fear usually meant you were on the right track.

\--

It could have been minutes later, or hours.  As in dreams, time here seemed to move differently, languid as a hot summer afternoon.  Suddenly, the tunnel widened out, stretching overhead to disappear into darkness an unseen height above him.

The rocks here *glowed.*  Unlike the tunnel, they cast an obvious radiance, throbbing with muted pinks and blues and soothing violets.  The floor of this chamber, much larger than the first, sloped gently down to an underground lakeshore. Small waves broke against the rocky ground, and water plinked randomly from some far off ceiling.

Just within the water stood four figures.  Moving closer, Stephen recognized the four young people.  They seemed peaceful, eyes closed and hands trailing in the water that lapped around their legs.  Aware of the need for haste, he stepped without hesitation into the water as well, feeling the waves spend themselves against his ankles.

Immediately, he was conscious of two things.  One was a gentle but insistent tugging, questing and pulling at his life force.  It was easy enough to ward against, with his training. He doubted the others would have a similar defense.  The second was a faint and eerie chittering, rising like the wind before a storm. In his periphery, he saw the shadows start to twist and skitter.

Stephen knew he didn’t have much time.  There was a force behind this chamber’s workings, and he felt it wouldn’t be long before he caught its interest.  He moved towards the figure closest to him. It was the girl, Noa. Although her body gave the impression of calm repose, her face was twisted in a frown, and her eyes darted beneath her closed lids.

Reaching out, Stephen extended the wards he’d erected around her.  But magic always had a price, and he knew that he’d cause an obvious ripple if he simply “unplugged” what he suspected might be a human battery.  As he extended his protection to the girl, he simultaneously let the lake feed off a small portion of his own energy.

The shadows swirled, and then quieted.  Stephen knew they were not fooled, but the exchange of power satiated them for the moment.  In front of him, the young woman blinked open her eyes, lips parting in astonishment as she took in her surroundings.

“What?  Where am I?  Who are you?”

He couldn’t afford extended explanations.  Stephen hoped the dream state would make her compliant enough to follow his instructions.  “I’m a friend. Your mothers sent me. I need you to listen carefully, and do exactly as I say.  Put your hand on this thread, and follow it. It will take you home. Don’t look back or stop for any reason.  Can you do this?” He pitched his tone deep and urgent, holding her gaze.

“Uh, yeah.  Yes.”

He guided her hand to the thread.  “Good. Remember, no stopping or looking back.  Now go!”

He watched for a moment (but just a moment) as she stumbled out of the water and towards the tunnel.  Then he slogged through the water towards the next victim.

Fortunately, the youths were all cooperative, and he was sure it had been only a matter of minutes as the last (the young man, Billy) wrapped a hand around the glittering strand and hurried towards the surface, and escape.  He needed to stay until they had all left the dream world. The shadows at the corners of his vision were already becoming agitated again. Stephen knew they could sense the difference in their source of power. If only he could keep them occupied for a short while longer.

Through the thread, he felt a faint tug, sensing as the last of those he had liberated released it.  There, that was Billy. Now came the tricky part. Taking a deep breath, Stephen sloshed through the water to the shoreline, and raised his mental shields again.

The shadows went wild, chittering and chasing each other around the walls of their chamber.  Caught off guard, Stephen fell to his hands and knees, bracing himself against the pebbled ground with a painful gasp.  The large wave that had surged out of the lake to knock him over swirled around him, and he felt the water’s invisible pull reach out again.

A clap echoed through the cavern, resounding against the stone walls and the surface of the lake.  Gritting his teeth against the physical ache in his hands and the chamber’s psychic assault, Stephen looked up.

\--

In front of him loomed a figure.  Its hood cast a sinister pool of shadow where the person’s face would be, assuming this was even a person.  In its open palm rested a squat stone statue, crystalline red eyes glowing in the skull perched atop its body.

A deep voice reverberated through the air.  “You are interfering where you are not welcome.”

Stephen sucked a breath in through clenched teeth, half of his mind focused on the increasingly insistent battering against his wards.  “Well, that’s kind of my job description. Maybe I could’ve left you alone if you weren’t trying to use kids as human batteries for your evil masterplan.  Mind telling me what that is, by the way?”

But apparently this bad guy wasn’t the kind who was interested in monologuing about his nefarious plot.  Just Stephen’s luck. Those tended to be a little easier to trip up.  

The figure continued as if Stephen had not spoken.  “Now you will face the consequences.”

The stone idol in the figure’s raised hand began to shudder, its vermillion eyes smouldering.  Then a red beam of light flashed out, illuminating the underground lake as it stretched into the distance.  Stephen felt a cry wrenched from his lips as another wave washed over him. The shadows screeched in triumph.

_ He was falling.  Falling without end.  Tree branches whipped against the windshield, and metal groaned as rocks tore the car’s undercarriage to pieces.  He braced his hands against the steering wheel, terror building as he anticipated the impact. But it didn’t come, headlamps glaring into a bottomless abyss as the car continued to fall… _

Stephen came back to himself with a stunned gasp.  The water swirled around his shoulders, inches from his face as he knelt on all fours, chest heaving.  The figure shook its cowled head.  

“No.”  The idol raised, and the fiery light flared again.  This time he didn’t even have a chance to scream.

_ “But you will suffer!”  Spikes sprouted from the earth, cleaving through his flesh.  His back arched, and his feet dangled above the ground as his body was raised towards the sky on an altar of swords.  The pain was unimaginable, and he waited for death. _

_ But it did not come.  A laugh rumbled maliciously somewhere above him, sight ripped away by waves of agony.  “You think you can bring Time into a dimension over which *I* rule? Think again, human.  You will spend eternity in unchanging torment, while I conquer your world without hindrance.” _

“Not quite.  Ah. This one.”  The water, Stephen realized, was now all around him.  He caught a breath, floundering as his head slipped under the lake’s icy waves.  He clawed back to the surface, then choked as red light flashed and he screamed.

_ No pain this time.  Sunlight dappled grass cushioned his feet, and a cool breeze teased small whitecaps from the lake’s blue waters.  A little girl ran across the lawn, and a large man in a black dress suit scooped her into his arms and brought her to rest against one hip.  The girl laughed, and the man smiled, but Stephen could tell that it didn’t reach his eyes. As the man turned towards the picturesque cottage, Stephen saw him surreptitiously wipe away a tear. _

_ “You took him away from her.”  The voice was low and filled with a world of suffering. _

_ Stephen turned.  Behind him, stood the boy, Peter.  His eyes were haunted, and red from crying.  He had one arm draped over Pepper Stark’s shoulders, and the older woman was tucked protectively against his side.  She was sobbing silently, face hidden in her hands. _

_ “You took him away from all of us.  Sent him to his death. You could have stopped it.”  Behind Pepper and Peter, an army of figures spread out.  Faces he knew caught his gaze as he scanned the crowd. Each face was full of sorrow, each set of eyes burned with recrimination. _

_ “Judge, jury, and executioner.  Tell us why you don’t deserve the same, Doctor.”  His title was said mockingly, with a pure loathing that made his heart clench.  “Don’t tell us that there was no other way. Coward.” _

“Stephen!”

His eyes snapped open again.  He tried to take a breath, and only water poured in.  Far above his head, the surface of the lake glowed with a muted light.  

“Stephen!”

Bubbles rose through the darkness as his limbs flailed uselessly.  He was drowning. His waterlogged robes drew him further downwards.  Stephen felt calm resignation pervade his senses. The tug of the lake’s power relentlessly siphoned away his life force, numbing him.  Maybe it was better this way.

“Stephen!  So help me God, wake up now or I’m calling an ambulance!”

Then nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:  This was probably my favorite chapter.  If I had an OTP (the not gen parts of not gen don’t do much for me, but they’re easy enough to skip for the fluff and angst :-), Stephen/Wong would totally be it.  I actually really went out of my comfort zone and wrote two little Wongrange snippets for the last part. But their friendship, in the movies and the associated comics/book, I adore.  Also, cameo!

Chapter 4

A faint scratching sound, parchment pulling against parchment.  The flutter of a page, quieter than a bird’s wing flapping. Silence.  Then again.

Stephen opened his eyes.  Lazily, he watched the motes of dust that drifted above him, late afternoon sunlight transforming them into specks of gold.  It was hard to summon any sense of haste. Scratch, flutter. The sound stopped, and a chair creaked softly.  

“You’re awake.”  The observation was made without intonation.  Turning his head against the cool fabric of the pillow, Stephen sought out the source of his friend’s voice.  Wong was seated in an armchair to the left of what Stephen realized was his own bed at the Sanctum. A thrill of urgency finally fought its way through the blissful numbness.  He had never seen the other man’s face look so grim.

“Wong.  What’s the matter?”

Wong’s usually stoic countenance conveyed obvious astonishment, before his frown returned.  “What’s the matter? That’s a good one. You almost died, Stephen.”

Lying flat on one’s back was not a particularly conducive position for having the kind of conversation Stephen sensed they were about to have.  He struggled to push himself higher against the headboard, and he succeeded. With effort. Laboring to catch his breath, Stephen leaned his head back against the wood.  He’d never been this tired before. In alarm, he probed the energies surrounding him.

“My magic?”

“Is still there.”  Wong had watched this process with resignation.  “Drained but not damaged. Care to tell me what happened?”

“I found them.  The affected. They were being used as...a power source, I think.  I released them, although I had to use my own magic as bait to allow them time to escape.”  A thought occurred to him. “They did escape, right?”

Wong nodded.  Well, at least he’d accomplished something.  “Then someone showed up.”

“Nightmare?”

“I don’t think so.  This person certainly had the power to manipulate dreams.  But, Wong, I don’t think it was the demon himself. I think they were using a relic.”

Wong’s expression changed again, surprise flitting across his features.  “Describe it.”

“It was a stone idol, about 6 inches tall.  The body was that of a man, but the head was a skull with two red crystals for eyes.”

Wong drew in a startled breath.  “The statue of  Mictlantecuhtli, Aztec Lord of the Night.  That’s been lost for centuries.”

“I knew that librarian’s brain of yours would recognize it.”  Stephen tried to smile at his friend, but Wong just looked away.  Stephen sighed.

“Anyways, the combination of the relic and letting the dream world feed on my magic was more than I’d bargained for.  I’m guessing Christine woke me up?”

Wong stared at him, and Stephen shifted nervously.  “Not quite. She tried. Right up until you started going into shock.  Then, fortunately, she called me before calling anyone else. I’d just found your note.”

“What in the Vishanti’s name were you thinking?”  Stephen wasn’t used to hearing Wong curse. His friend usually had far too much control for that.  “You went off by yourself, without any back-up, to confront a power we knew nothing about. Nightmare would have been challenge enough, but you were caught off guard.  Stephen, when I got there, you were barely *alive.*”

“Wong, I’m sorry…”  He reached out a trembling hand towards the other man, even as his other arm shook violently with the effort of holding himself up.  Wong kept his gaze averted, trained to the floor as he spoke again.

“I felt you give up.  I never want to feel that again.”

Stephen had nothing to say.  He’d only wanted to spare his friends any more pain, and he couldn’t even do that properly.  The Cloak, which he realized had been spread over him like a great red comforter, stroked his hand with one corner.  He petted it in turn, the warm fabric a soothing weight holding him in place.

Wong sighed, so deeply that his chest shuddered with it.  “There is more going on here than we realized. You have to stop running, if you want to see your way to the answer.”  He stood briskly. “Can you stand?”

Stephen was frozen for a moment by the abrupt change in his friend’s demeanor.  He nodded in affirmation, although he wasn’t quite sure if that was the truth. As he pushed himself away from the headboard, using all of his concentration to do so, the Cloak flew up to settle around his shoulders.  It took a fair amount of help from Wong and the Cloak, and not a few muttered obscenities on Stephen’s part. But he finally stood on his own two feet, the Cloak taking most of his weight.

“It’ll have to do.”  Wong raised a hand, and the magic that Stephen usually cast without thought (but that right now seemed a gargantuan effort) transformed Stephen’s sleeping attire into his usual sorcerer’s robes.  “Let’s go.”

“And where are we going?”

Wong spun open a portal, glancing back over his shoulder.  “Kamar-Taj.”

\--

It was raining in Kamar-Taj.  One of the first storms of the winter raged against the ancient stones, and errant droplets managed to reach them even under the shelter of the cloister’s roof.  Wong led the way, his steps hurried. Few were present in the corridors at this time of night.

Wong turned a corner into a darkened hallway that Stephen did not recognize.  They were entirely under cover here, although he could still hear the storm buffeting the roof above them.  Wong hefted a lamp that rested in the alcove to their right, a ball of fire sparking from his fingertips to nestle in the metal bowl.

They ascended a short staircase, feet scuffing against worn stone.  The room they entered stretched before them in darkness, although the sound of rain was much louder here.  Lights speared from Wong’s lamp to kindle several sconces placed around the room. In the center of the space, a metal fire pit roared to life.

In front of them stood no wall, but only a porch extending into an open garden.  Water cascaded from the porch’s edge. The autumn flowers that covered the garden’s bushes and beds glowed orange in the fire’s light, bright against a backdrop of dark, rain-slicked trees.

Wong nodded at the single woven mat that lay on the floor next to the cheerfully leaping flames.  With the Cloak’s help, Stephen shuffled the last few feet to the mat, and sank to his knees, then to sit cross legged.  He stifled a gasp of relief, and felt the Cloak tighten reassuringly around his shoulders. Perhaps the relic was feeling a little over-attached after what had happened.

“What is this place?”

Wong considered his question for a moment.  “I suppose you might call it the heart of Kamar-Taj.  This compound was not always such. Once, beyond recorded history, before this city was raised, it was a mountain shrine to ancient gods.  A place of power. This is that place, although its origins and the people who first sought blessing here are long forgotten.”

Wong paused, gazing into the fire.  “Find yourself, Stephen. If you do not, I am afraid we are lost.  I’m sorry this has to be your burden, but we do not always choose our own fate.”  Stephen felt a comforting hand come to rest on his shoulder, and knew despite his friend’s earlier ire that Wong was only angry with his actions, not with Stephen himself.  “If you need me, I’ll be outside.”

Stephen did not watch the other man walk away, just listened until his footsteps had receded and the soft creak of the door’s hinges signalled its closing.  A wet gust of early winter air swept through the room, and the flames waved in defiance. Sparks arced through the night, vanishing before reaching the floor.  Letting his hands rest on his knees in a meditative pose, he stared into the fire’s red and orange depths.

\--

It was difficult to fight the lure of sleep, but he struggled to keep his thoughts both free and focused.  Spiralling down to his center was one of the earliest exercises from his lessons in this place. It was more of a battle than usual, exhaustion making his thoughts scatter like fallen leaves in the wind.  Taking a deep breath, letting the Cloak hold his physical body upright, he began to sort through his emotions.

They were--he realized--a roiling, seething mess tonight.  First he acknowledged and cast away his physical wants and sensations:  the need for sleep and food, the dizziness of blood sugar that was slightly too low, the nausea that had plagued him in the months since the Return.  Then he examined his thoughts about their current predicament, flights of both logic and fancy. He set those too aside.

Finally, he was left with the most primitive of emotions.  Guilt...oh, that was particularly powerful. Love and friendship, for the astonishing number of people who had wormed their way into his heart since leaving behind his old life.  Self-doubt and self-hatred, both grown far stronger than he had realized. Appraising and dismissing each in turn, he was left suddenly with a single, fiercely pulsing orb of oily blackness that hovered before him.

Fear.  The limbic system was one of the oldest parts of the mammalian brain, and the small, almond-shaped structure that sat at its heart still humanity’s blessing and its curse.  There was nowhere he could go to outrun it, and nothing with which he could truly defeat it.

“What are you so afraid of, Stephen?”

With a jolt that nearly knocked him out of his reflective state entirely, Stephen raised his head to take in a sight he had never expected to see again.  The Ancient One wore the yellow robes she had worn at her death, but her skin was unmarred and her eyes twinkled merrily in her young-old face. She settled smoothly to her knees on the other side of the fire pit.

“How are you here?  Are you real?” He took a deep breath.  “I’ve...missed your guidance. Missed you.”

She laughed, and her laughter was the happy chiming of evening prayer bells.  “You ask if something is real, after what you have witnessed? Ah, still squinting at that keyhole, I see.”  Her smile grew more serious. “But you *have* grown, and I am proud of that. Still, you have not answered my question.  What are you so afraid of?”

\--

With reluctance, Stephen turned his gaze back to the churning black orb.  Had it become larger? He could not say. He knew his teacher well, and that she expected more than a trite answer.  After a long moment, he spoke slowly.

“I am afraid...of failure.  Not because of my reputation.  I know, it’s not about me. But there are so many people who rely on me.  And some of them have become...very dear. I am afraid,” here he locked eyes with the woman across the fire, and his voice strengthened.  “I am afraid of losing them. I can bear their disappointment, if it means they do not suffer because I was not good enough.”

She nodded.  “I appreciate your honesty.  But let me ask you another question.  How do you think your friends will feel, if you shut them out and let them watch you destroy yourself?”

He thought for a moment, and his mind recalled images of Christine’s worried embrace, of Wong’s face as he sat at Stephen’s bedside.  “Maybe...they wouldn’t feel very good. But at least they’d be alive!”

“Oh, Stephen.”  She smiled sadly.  “You should know better than anyone that there are worse things to life than dying.  The suffering they feel when you shut them out is just as real as any physical pain.”  He moved to speak, but she held up a hand. “One more question. But first, look at the rain.”

He’d missed this.  Stephen barely refrained from rolling his eyes, as he fell back into the role of student.  “Okay.”

“What do you see?”

“Rain.”

“Cheeky.  And what is the rain made of?”

“Water.”

“Good.  Can it harm you?”

“It depends.”

“Ah.  Now you see beyond the keyhole.”  She raised one palm, atop which quivered a single jewelled bead of water.  “One molecule of water can do nothing. One drop of water can do little. But a river of water can cut away stone.  And an ocean of water can carry a ship.”

“Stephen.”  He gazed into her eyes, unable to look away.  “Don’t push your friends away. They want to help you, and it makes them suffer to see you suffer.  You are stronger together. If you want to save the world, you can’t do it alone.”

Stephen contemplated her words, feeling the truth of them echo deep within his being.  Then he nodded, and watched as the black orb of fear finally twisted and vanished like smoke in the breeze.  He knew it was still there, and would never go away. But as long as it did not control or consume him, he could live with that.

“Stephen.”  There was an undercurrent of urgency in the Ancient One’s next words, and he felt a thrill of warning.  “You know firsthand what happens when someone turns their back on their friends. Now you have to remember.  There isn’t much time. Maybe we’ll meet again someday. But now...wake up!”

“No, wait!”

\--

Too late.  He snapped back into his physical body.  The fire was dying out into embers, only the wall lamps dimly lighting the large room.  Something nagged at the back of his awareness. He forced his sluggish thoughts into order, mind truly free to work at the puzzle for the first time.

_ “You know firsthand what happens when someone turns their back on their friends.” _

_ “Now you will face the consequences.” _

_ “ _ _ You still think there will be no consequences, Strange?” _

_ “Don’t tell us there was no other way.  Coward.” _

_ “You’re a coward.” _

“By the Vishanti.  He had a relic. Oh no.  Wong!” Stephen scrambled to his feet, the Cloak caught off guard by his haste.  Staggering to the door, he threw it open so hard that the wood thudded heavily against the stone.  “Wong!”

But the corridor outside the room was empty.  Wong had said he would wait, and Wong would not have lied, or left except in case of dire emergency.  And even then, he would have attempted to rouse Stephen first.

Not good.  Stephen tore down the stairs, righting himself painfully against the doorframe as he stumbled at the bottom.  It was still night, but now the stillness seemed foreboding rather than tranquil. Thunder boomed overhead, and the rain continued to pour down.

The Cloak gave an insistent tug.  He’d learned long ago to follow the relic’s cues.

“Where to?”  The sentient fabric tugged again.  “Main hall?”

At the Cloak’s confirmation, he took off running.  He couldn’t keep the pace up for long in his current condition, but fortunately it wasn’t far.  Gathering himself for only a moment, he flung open the towering door and practically fell into the main hall of the ancient compound.  His breath instantly caught in his throat.

“Looking for something?”

The hall resembled nothing more than a war zone.  Masters, disciples, and novices alike were scattered throughout, some unconscious (or worse), others injured, and many frozen in place.  Soft groans filled the air.

Wong had a deep cut above one eye.  He was upright, although Stephen couldn’t tell how much under his own power and how much due to the arm wrapped around his neck.  Lamplight gleamed off the dagger that arm held to his friend’s throat. Stephen knew what the dark stains on the dagger’s blade must be.

The figure standing behind Wong was in shadow, but Stephen recognized the cowl from his encounter in the world of dreams.  And now he knew, but it seemed that knowledge had come too late. He could feel the waves of power pouring from the figure.  Stolen power.

“Hello, Stephen.”  Pushing Wong ahead of him, the figure stepped forward.  Into the light.

“Hello, Mordo.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:  Well, if you actually read this little story, thanks quite a bit.  I hope it was fun. And now the denouement! (I’ve always wanted to say that.)

 

“So you did figure it out.  No matter. It is too late now for you to do anything.  I am here to cleanse this compound. Once Kamar-Taj has fallen, the Sanctums will follow easily enough.”

Stephen felt the Cloak flare in outrage at his back, and clenched his jaw as he fought not to raise shields against his former mentor.  Maybe there was still a chance they could end this without conflict, although he felt it was a forlorn hope. But a display of anger and confrontation would do him no favors.  So he held himself steady.

“Let Wong go, Mordo.  We can talk about this.”  Mordo’s laugh was harsh and dark, with no trace of his former easy humor.  Stephen’s heart sank.

“Talk?  What good will talk do, Strange?  There is only one solution. When an infection had taken hold, would you let it fester and spread?  Or would you cut it out, to save your patient’s life?”

“Actually, I’d probably use antibiotics, before I started cutting body parts off willy nilly.”  Stephen felt a small thrill of relief at Wong’s eye roll; at least the other sorcerer was well enough to despair at his friend’s idiocy.  “Okay, okay, not what you meant.”  

Stephen held up his hands placatingly, ignoring how much they shook.  He really wasn’t at his best right now, but he doubted that Mordo would come back at a more convenient time.

“Always a smart remark, eh, Strange?  You’ll learn soon enough.” Mordo tightened his hold on Wong’s throat threateningly, forcing the other man onto the balls of his feet.  The dagger dug slightly into skin, and Stephen watched in horror as a trickle of blood dripped into the collar of his friend’s tunic.

Mordo smiled, and Stephen’s stomach turned.  “I’ll tell you what, Stephen. Fight me, and I’ll let him go, for now.  Prove that you are no longer a coward, and I will grant you the mercy of dying before your friend does.”

The dagger dug deeper, and Wong gasped.  Stephen was out of options, at least for now.  Raising his hands, he brought two fiery mandalas to life.  Mordo seemed satisfied, and with a harsh shove sent Wong to his hands and knees on the floor.  Stephen took a step forward, but his friend raised a hand to wave him back, head still bowed. Gritting his teeth, he turned to face Mordo.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Stop snivelling, Strange.”  Mordo clapped his hands together, then drew them apart to form a fiery sabre from the air.  “I’d heard that you might finally have grown a spine; don’t disappoint me.”  

With a roar, Mordo charged, sword clashing against Stephen’s shields.  Stephen spun and parried, staying on the defensive. He kept his eyes fixed on Mordo as he spoke.

“I’ve had to do what was necessary.  And yes, that was a hard lesson for me to learn.  But there’s a difference between saving as many people as you can, and wanton disregard for life.  Just because the world can be cruel doesn’t mean we have to be.”  

Mordo’s sabre crashed against one shield, and it sputtered out in a flurry of sparks.  Stephen scarcely brought the other to bear before the blade struck again.

“You’re still so naive, Strange.  How pathetic.” Mordo growled. “The world needs order and structure, not trite platitudes about saving as many as we can.  That road leads to decisions that should never be made, powers that should never be wielded by mere humans. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

Stephen grunted with effort as Mordo forced him backwards, feeling the hungry tendrils of dark energy that radiated from the other man.  

“Look at you, Strange!  I have heard of what you did:  wielded an infinity stone, meddled with the fate of the Multiverse, used the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes as pawns against a Titan.  And now you can barely stand, let alone fight! The cost of magic is too high! We must end this madness!”

\--

Stephen locked eyes with his assailant over the fiery sparks from his shield and Mordo’s sword.  For a moment, he saw a glimpse of pain in their depths, and the soul of the man who had saved him on the streets of Kathmandu.  Sorrow and understanding flooded him as he realized that he and Mordo had not been walking such vastly different roads after all.

“Oh, Karl.  You’re afraid, too.  You look for law to guide you, because you’re frightened to make those decisions on your own.  I’m sorry, old friend.” Mordo’s brows lowered in confusion, then pursed in anger.

“Speak sense, Strange.”  With another roar, he sent Stephen flying backwards, feet skidding against the ancient stones.  Stephen bit back a groan as he slammed against one of the hall’s pillars. His shields sparked, but held.

“Mordo.  Please, listen.  This life isn’t about right and wrong, black and white.  I have...so many faults, and have made so many mistakes. We all have.  We can only keep trying to do our best. The Ancient One was right when she said you were strong but inflexible.  But I know you can learn to bend, and grow. We could use your strength and compassion.”

He’d made his plea.  It was up to Mordo now, just as it had ultimately been up to him to accept his own fear and move past it.  Although Stephen knew that was a fight he would have to keep waging every day, for the rest of his life.

For a moment, he dared to hope.  But then he saw Mordo’s dark eyes grow stormy, and felt the power around the other sorcerer whipping like the winds of a hurricane.  

“The world did not give me compassion.  Only rule and the natural law can save us.  Now fight, or die!”  

Mordo’s blade flashed against the darkened ceiling, swinging downward with all the might of his stolen magic behind it.  With a cry, Stephen met it with his shield. It held, but only barely. As the sword raised again, the shield failed, and Stephen crashed to the stone floor.  

Stephen had learned much since he had studied under Mordo’s tutelage as a novice in these very halls.  Many of those lessons had left their scars, although he was also the stronger and wiser for them. But he was not at his best, far from it.  Months of little sleep, little food, and far too much guilt and self-doubt, followed by Mordo’s attack in the dream world, had left him severely weakened.  And Mordo’s strength had grown with his sins against the youths he’d held as a captive source of power. Stephen would not put past Mordo other crimes as well.  Unless Stephen thought of another way, this was the end.  

And once he fell, then so would Kamar-Taj and finally the Sanctums.  Without the Sanctums, Earth would be left defenseless against the ravening forces that waited to consume her.  There had to be another way.

\--

Under his fingers, which usually barely felt at all, Stephen felt the smallest tremble of magic.  For a moment, he thought he’d hallucinated it, had hit his head too hard against the stones. Then he felt it again.

It sounded like the faintest echo of an evening prayer bell.  Smelled like a wind off the mountains in the autumn, washed clean by the rain.  Felt like the softest brush of a gentian flower. Tasted like tea, with a little honey.

The stones of Kamar-Taj sang with a quiet power that had been stored in the ground since before humanity put pen to paper.  They heard his need, and answered it with all of the hope and faith that had been brought to this mountain by people just like him.  And through them, he felt the spirits of all those who were gathered around him: students, colleagues, friends.

He wouldn’t take without consent, but he could ask.  And they--just people, but people who like him believed that the world could be made a better place--gave freely.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, but it had only been a second in time.  Stephen propped himself up on one elbow, and his gaze locked with his former mentor’s.  Mordo must have sensed the flow of magic, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Mordo.  Karl.” Stephen struggled to his feet, the Cloak catching around his shoulders as he nearly went back to his knees.  His skin thrummed with power. Now if his traitorous body would just cooperate for a minute longer. “It’s never too late to start over.  Please.”

“No!  It ends now!”  Sword raised, cloud of dark energy poised to strike like a serpent, the sorcerer charged.

And the room flared.  Light bright as the sun coiled out to meet the darkness with an almighty crash, like the tolling of prayer bells grown a thousand strong, shaken in a winter storm and cast clanging against the stones.

When the light cleared, Mordo lay unconscious on the floor of the hall, a limp bundle of limbs and robes.  Stephen stood above him, chest heaving and hands still raised. His blue robes were disheveled and torn, and his hair a tangle of black and silver strands.  Blood and sweat trickled down his cheek. Behind him, the Cloak still spread wide, its corners waving as if in search of the next threat.

\--

But the threat was gone.  As if released from a spell (actually, Stephen realized, Mordo’s power had been so great that he could easily have held the others in thrall to prevent them from aiding Stephen), a couple of the closest masters stumbled towards the fallen sorcerer.  Silently, they bound their former colleague with glowing cuffs of eldritch magic, and disappeared with him through a portal.  

Well, at least that seemed to be taken care of.  He’d have to make sure that Mordo was secure and well-treated, but for now he trusted his fellow masters.  He staggered past where Mordo had lain, trusting the Cloak to keep him moving. Bracing one wildly shaking hand against the wall with a groan, he slid down it to sit on the ancient stones.  

Speaking of the stones...he reached out tentatively, probing and prodding as at a sore tooth.  The magic was still there, but dormant again. How had he never felt it before today?

But that would keep.  He turned his head to look at Wong.  The other man was kneeling next to him, head bowed.  He was pale, and a trickle of blood still ran down under his collar.  But he seemed largely unharmed. Not so for the unfortunate master who lay in front of Wong, her face and upper body covered out of respect with a colorful shawl.

Stephen reached out a hand, resting it against his friend’s shoulder.  “Wong? Are you alright?” He stifled a gasp as the other man turned to face him.  Stephen never thought he’d see the day when Wong shed a tear, but a single drop of water trailed its way down the librarian’s cheek.

“She was a...good friend.  From my days as a novice. We took tea together just last week, and she was so excited about her work.  I will miss her very much, Stephen.”

“Oh Wong.  I’m so sorry.”

Wong nodded, and gave Stephen a watery smile.  Then he turned back to his departed comrade. Stephen kept his hand on the other man’s shoulder.  After a moment, he felt the warmth of Wong’s hand settle on his knee. He accepted, with sad resignation, that these moments would never become easier:  they would try their best to do the right thing, and after (if they were still standing) mourn those who were not. But they would always do it together.

With a weary sigh, Stephen leaned his head back against the cool stones of the wall.  He would watch over Wong, as Wong stood watch over his friend. Stephen felt the Cloak gently stroke his cheek.  And the Cloak would stand watch over him. Because that was what friends did for each other.

\--

Epilogue

Wong stared out into the sunset.  He’d been many places in his life, but thought he had never seen the sky painted with such a brilliant palate of colors.  Bright gold, fiery orange, and deep crimson backlit the darkened tree line. The calls of parrots and monkeys roosting for the night rose from the jungle beneath him.

He felt another person’s arm gently nudge his, and turned to watch as Stephen leaned against the stone parapet.

“Thought I might find you here.  How’re you holding up?”

“Well enough.  Thank you for coming.  Cora would have appreciated it.”

“It was a beautiful ceremony.”

Wong nodded, turning back towards the setting sun.  “The last night of our training, we went up onto the mountain to watch the stars.  Cora said that she was going to leave Kamar-Taj, and never stop exploring for the rest of her years.  She said that when she died, since she assumed I’d still be ‘stuck in some stuffy library somewhere,’ she wanted me to spread her ashes at the place she most loved.  I had forgotten, until she wrote me some years ago to say that she had found that place.”

“Her work on the traditional mystic practices of Mesoamerica is groundbreaking.  She was quite the scholar, your friend.”

Wong nodded.  “Taking her collection home to study is the least I can do to carry on her work.  The odd thing is, I actually recognized the relic that Mordo used from one of her letters to me.”

He glanced at the other sorcerer out of the corner of his eye.  Stephen’s elbows were braced against the low wall, and he was gazing with calm attentiveness over the darkening vista below.  He still did not look entirely well. A few days of rest and regular meals hardly made up for months of neglect, and the hollows of his cheeks were still too prominent.  But he seemed centered, and in control.

Wong had already heard the stories growing up around the confrontation with Mordo.  The most fanciful spoke of a shadowy serpent struck down by a great winged bird made entirely of light.  The skeptics argued that those witnesses had seen nothing more than Mordo’s sword and Stephen’s Cloak. But no one argued that the man who stood next to him, waiting quietly for Wong to continue speaking, had done something truly remarkable, even for a sorcerer.

“She tried to save me, you know.  When Mordo grabbed me, she tried to stop him.  And he...Stephen, he struck her down like she was nothing to him.”  Wong rubbed a hand over his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to anyone of what had happened that night.

“Hey.”  Stephen’s shoulder bumped again against his.  “Stop. It wasn’t your fault. Trust me, I can tell what blaming yourself looks like.  Don’t do it. Think about what an incredible friend Cora was, and honor the memory of her sacrifice.”

Wong lowered his hand, looking up into the heavens with rapidly blinking eyes.  He watched as a shooting star arced overhead.

“When did you become so wise?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe when you locked me in a room with weird ancient powers and told me not to come out until I’d gotten my act together?”

Wong hummed.  “I might need to do that more often then.”

Stephen laughed softly.  “I meant to thank you, actually.  For the first time in a very long time, I think I might be at peace with who I am, and what I’ve made of my life.”

Then, tracing a shaking finger along the rapidly cooling stones of the wall, he asked more contemplatively.  “Speaking of weird ancient powers, I have a question that I’m hoping your librarian’s brain can answer for me.  That night, the stones of Kamar-Taj, well, spoke to me. More feelings than words. I might have thought I was making it all up, but I’ve been able to feel them ever since.  These stones, too, have stories to tell.”

Wong didn’t doubt it.  The ancient Mayan temple held thousands of years of memories from a civilization’s heart.  But still he shivered in the warm night air. He’d known what it meant, when his friend’s spirit reached out to his, and to all the others present that night.

“Yes.  I have heard of it before.”  Stephen waited patiently, head cocked in interest.  “Some of history’s most formidable sorcerers have had the ability to tap into the psychic energy of a place, some would say its soul.  The ability, too, to reach out to the souls of others, and even harness the power of the Earth itself. It is rare. And has always been the domain of the Sorcerer Supreme.”

“Huh.”  Stephen nodded, as if Wong had just told him what weather to expect tomorrow.  “See, I knew you’d know.”

Wong was tempted to roll his eyes.  “That is all? I tell you that you’ve done something few sorcerers in history have ever achieved, and your response is to thank me for my knowledge?”

“Well, it wasn’t like I could just Google it, could I?”  Now the idiot was outright grinning at Wong’s outrage. They were all doomed.

Then he realized that he’d forgotten, for just a moment, about the sorrowful duty that brought them to this place.  Stephen’s grin turned into a sad, but knowing, smile. “Well, I tried. Not that it’s wrong to mourn, or remember. Tell me about her.”

“Cora?”  Wong found it hard to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Yeah.  She sounds like a good friend.  I’ll bet she could have told me some crazy stories about your student days.”

Now it was Wong’s turn to smile sadly.  “Indeed she could have.”

So he leaned against the ancient holy place of a long lost civilization, and told one friend about another as the jungle came to life below the stars.

FINIS


End file.
